Last night, when the children finished school, I drove them 16 miles so I could go shopping. I was really grumpy all day, because I’d decided to rest my leg until I’d seen the physiotherapist and I was all out of endorphins. I thought a bit of retail therapy might cheer me up.
We got to the shop, and having promised (threatened?) them with the delights of deeply unhealthy food from that place beginning with M, I got my fix at Sweatshop. I fondled trainers, I gazed at gels. I coveted coats. It was lovely. And then, I treated myself to these:
I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not One Of Those Things, it’s a running waist bag. It’s official: I think I’m losing it. When you skip out of a shop full of excitement about an iPhone armband and a ‘running waist bag’ (snort) it’s not a good sign.
Ahem. In more serious news, I went to the physiotherapist today, where I am very pleased to report I didn’t have to wear shorts after all. I rolled up my capri pant things instead.
The good news: there’s nothing major wrong. A bit of soreness, nothing out of the ordinary. She did some ultrasound treatment on my sore calf/knee muscle, she poked around, I walked, I stood on one leg, I did lots of bending. It was quite relaxing, actually. Jo, the physio, said that mothers often find it hard to focus on their body and how it’s doing, ignoring pain or discomfort until it gets out of control. The gin probably doesn’t help.
Technical bit coming up: a few years ago when I sprained my ankle, I tore the ligaments on the outside of my foot. The same foot over pronates (collapses inward) slightly, so I have trainers which stabilise and correct that problem. However, doing that creates stress on the outside of my foot. It’s a vicious circle, and the way to break it is with an orthotic insole, apparently. So my next medical adventure will be with a podiatrist next week.
I’d like to point out that all this faffing about with medical people is seriously eating into my lying-on-the-couch-eating-chocolate time. My Sky Plus box is full of programmes I’ve missed, I have a mountain of books lying unread by the side of the bed and I’ve read more running magazines than any sane person every should. Oh yes, and I drove sixteen miles to buy a bum bag. I’ve lost it, haven’t I?
I called the doctor today, because I thought that if I was one of my horses, I’d have called the vet. She made me take off my trousers and prodded (technical term) my legs all over, before pronouncing that she didn’t think it was anything major.
She has referred me to a physiotherapist, and told me to scale back the running until I see her on Thursday. I sat on the couch wearing icepacks, eating chocolate and drinking tea today; not sure that’s quite what she meant by scaling back.
When I spoke to the physiotherapist today she told me to come with my trainers and to bring some shorts. Shorts? I’m slightly worried that she’s expecting a proper marathon running person. I don’t own any shorts. D’you think I need to go out and buy some?
In other news, thanks to the amazing generosity of some really lovely people we’ve now raised an amazing £425 for Heart Research UK on my Just Giving page! Thank you all so much.